The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
“I see. And they were engaged, perhaps?”
Michaels seemed embarrassed. “You might call it that, sir, although it
was a little less formal....”
Silence. “How long have you been in Monte Field’s employ, Michaels?”
pursued the Inspector.
“Three years next month.”
Queen switched to a new line of questioning. He asked Michaels about
Field’s addiction to theatre-going, his financial condition and his
drinking habits. In these particulars Michaels corroborated Mrs.
Russo’s statements. Nothing of a fresh nature was disclosed.
“A few moments ago you said you have been working for Field a matter of
three years,” continued Queen, settling back in his chair. “How did you
get the job?”
Michaels did not answer immediately. “I followed up an ad in the
papers, sir.”
“Quite so.... If you have been in Field’s service for three years,
Michaels, you should know Benjamin Morgan.”
Michaels permitted a proper smile to cross his lips. “Certainly I know
Mr. Benjamin Morgan,” he said heartily. “And a very fine gentleman
he is, too, sir. He was Mr. Field’s partner, you know, in their law
business. But then they separated about two years ago and I haven’t
seen much of Mr. Morgan since.”
“Did you see him often before the split?”
“No, sir,” returned the burly valet, in a tone which implied regret.
“Mr. Field was not Mr. Morgan’s—ah—type, and they didn’t mix socially.
Oh, I remember seeing Mr. Morgan in this apartment three or four
times, but only when it was a matter of most urgent business. Even then
I couldn’t say much about it since I didn’t stay all evening.... Of
course, he hasn’t been here, so far as I know, since they broke up the
firm.”
Queen smiled for the first time during the conversation. “Thank you
for your frankness, Michaels.... I’m going to be an old gossip—do you
recall any unpleasantness about the time they dissolved?”
“Oh, no, sir!” protested Michaels. “I never heard of a quarrel or
anything like that. In fact, Mr. Field told me immediately after the
dissolution that he and Mr. Morgan would remain friends—very good
friends, he said.”
Michaels turned with his politely blank expression at a touch on his
arm. He found himself face to face with Ellery. “Yes, sir?” he asked
respectfully.
“Michaels, dear man,” said Ellery with severity, “I detest raking up
old coals, by why haven’t you told the Inspector about that time you
were in jail?”
As if he had stepped on an exposed live-wire Michaels’ body stiffened
and grew still. The ruddy color drained out of his face. He stared
open-mouthed, aplomb swept away, into Ellery’s smiling eyes.
“Why—why—how did you find that out?” gasped the valet, his speech less
soft and polished. Queen appraised his son with approval. Piggott and
Johnson moved closer to the trembling man.
Ellery lit a cigarette. “I didn’t know it at all,” he said cheerfully.
“That is, not until you told me. It would pay you to cultivate the
Delphic oracles, Michaels.”
Michaels’ face was the color of dead ashes. He turned, shaking, toward
Queen. “You—you didn’t ask me about that, sir,” he said weakly.
Nevertheless his tone had again become taut and blank. “Besides, a man
doesn’t like to tell things like that to the police....”
“Where did you do time, Michaels?” asked the Inspector in a kindly
voice.
“Elmira Reformatory, sir,” muttered Michaels. “It was my first
offense—I was up against it, starving, stole some money.... I got a
short stretch, sir.”
Queen rose. “Well, Michaels, of course you understand that you are not
exactly a free agent at present. You may go home and look for another
job if you want to, but stay at your present lodgings and be ready for
a call at any time.... Just a moment, before you go.” He strode over to
the black suit-case and snapped it open. A jumbled mass of clothing—a
dark suit, shirts, ties, socks—some clean, some dirty—was revealed.
Queen rummaged swiftly through the bag, closed it and handed it to
Michaels, who was standing to one side with an expression of sorrowful
patience.
“Seems to me you were taking mighty few duds with you, Michaels,”
remarked Queen, smiling. “It’s too bad that you’ve been done out of
your vacation. Well! That’s the way life is!” Michaels murmured a
low good-by, picked up the bag and departed. A moment later Piggott
strolled out of the apartment.
Ellery threw back his head and laughed delightedly. “What a mannerly
beggar! Lying in his teeth, pater.... And what did he want here, do you
think?”
“He came to get something, of course,” mused the Inspector. “And that
means there’s something here of importance that we have apparently
overlooked....”
He grew thoughtful. The telephone bell rang.
“Inspector?” Sergeant Velie’s voice boomed over the wire. “I called
headquarters but you weren’t there, so I guessed you were still at
Field’s place.... I’ve some interesting news for you from Browne Bros.
Do you want me to come up to Field’s?”
“No,” returned Queen. “We’re through here. I’ll be at my office
just as soon as I’ve paid a visit to Field’s on Chambers Street. I’ll
be there if anything important comes up in the interim. Where are you
now?”
“Fifth Avenue—I’ve just come out of Browne’s.”
“Then go back to headquarters and wait for me. And, Thomas—send a
uniformed man up here right away.”
Queen hung up and turned to Johnson.
“Stay here until a cop shows up—it won’t be long,” he grunted. “Have
him keep a watch in the apartment and arrange for a relief. Then report
back to the main office.... Come along, Ellery. This is going to be a
busy day!”
Ellery’s protests were in vain. His father fussily hustled him out of
the building and into the street, where the roar of a taxicab’s exhaust
effectually drowned out his voice.
CHAPTER X
IN WHICH MR. FIELD’S TOPHATS BEGIN TO ASSUME PROPORTIONS
It was exactly ten o’clock in the morning when Inspector Queen and his
son opened the frosted glass door marked:
MONTE FIELD
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW
The large waiting-room they entered was decorated in just such a
fashion as might have been expected from a man of Field’s taste in
clothes. It was deserted, and with a puzzled glance Inspector Queen
pushed through the door, Ellery strolling behind, and went into the
General Office. This was a long room filled with desks. It resembled
a newspaper “city room” except for its rows of bookcases filled with
ponderous legal tomes.
The office was in a state of violent upheaval. Stenographers chattered
excitedly in small groups. A number of male clerks whispered in a
corner; and in the center of the room stood Detective Hesse, talking
earnestly to a lean saturnine man with greyed temples. It was evident
that the demise of the lawyer had created something of a stir in his
place of business.
At the entrance of the Queens the employees looked at each other in
a startled way and began to slip back to their desks. An embarrassed
silence fell. Hesse hurried forward. His eyes were red and strained.
“Good morning, Hesse,” said the Inspector abruptly. “Where’s Field’s
private office?”
The detective led them across the room to still another door, a
large PRIVATE lettered on its panels. The three men went into a small
office which was overwhelmingly luxurious.
“This chap went in for atmosphere, didn’t he?” Ellery chuckled, sinking
into a red-leather armchair.
“Let’s have it, Hesse,” said the Inspector, following Ellery’s suit.
Hesse began to talk rapidly. “Got here last night and found the door
locked. No sign of a light inside. I listened pretty closely but
couldn’t hear a sound, so I took it for granted that there was no one
inside and camped in the corridor all night. At about a quarter to nine
this morning the office-manager breezed in and I collared him. He was
that tall bird I was talking to when you came in. Name’s Lewin—Oscar
Lewin.”
“Office-manager, eh?” remarked the old man, inhaling snuff.
“Yes, Chief. He’s either dumb or else he knows how to keep his mouth
shut,” continued Hesse. “Of course, he’d already seen the morning
papers and was upset by the news of Field’s murder. I could see he
didn’t like my questions any too well, either.... I didn’t get a thing
out of him. Not a thing. He said he’d gone straight home last night—it
seems Field had left about four o’clock and didn’t come back—and he
didn’t know anything about the murder until he read the papers. We’ve
been sort of sliding along here all morning, waiting for you to come.”
“Get Lewin for me.”
Hesse returned with the lanky office-manager in his wake. Oscar Lewin
was physically unprepossessing. He had shifty black eyes and was
abnormally thin. There was something predatory in his beaked nose and
bony figure. The Inspector looked him over coldly.
“So you’re the office-manager,” he remarked. “Well, what do you
think of this affair, Lewin?”
“It’s terrible—simply terrible,” groaned Lewin. “I can’t imagine how
it happened or why. Good Lord, I was talking to him only four o’clock
yesterday afternoon!” He seemed genuinely distressed.
“Did Mr. Field appear strange or worried when you spoke to him?”
“Not at all, sir,” replied Lewin nervously. “In fact, he was in
unusually good spirits. Cracked a joke about the Giants and said he was
going to see a darned good show last night—‘Gunplay.’ And now I see by
the papers that he was killed there!”
“Oh, he told you about the play, did he?” asked the Inspector. “He
didn’t happen to remark by any chance that he was going with anybody?”
“No, sir.” Lewin shuffled his feet.
“I see.” Queen paused. “Lewin, as manager you must have been closer to
Field than any other of his employees. Just what do you know about him
personally?”
“Not a thing, sir, not a thing,” said Lewin hastily. “Mr. Field was not
a man with whom an employee could become familiar. Occasionally he said
something about himself, but it was always of a general nature and more
jesting than serious. To us outside he was always a considerate and
generous employer—that’s all.”
“What exactly was the calibre of the business he conducted, Lewin? You
must certainly know something about that.”
“Business?” Lewin seemed startled. “Why, it was as fine a practice as
any I’ve encountered in the law profession. I’ve worked for Field only
two years or so, but he had some high-and-mighty clients, Inspector. I
can give you a list of them....”
“Do that, and mail it to me,” said Queen. “So he had a flourishing
and respectable practice, eh? Any personal visitors to your
knowledge—especially recently?”
“No. I can’t remember ever seeing any one up here except his clients.
Of course, he may have known some of them socially.... Oh, yes! Of
course his valet came here at times—tall, brawny fellow by the name of
Michaels.”
“Michaels? I’ll have to remember that name,” said the Inspector
thoughtfully. He looked up at Lewin. “All right, Lewin. That will be
all now. You might dismiss the force for the day. And—just stay around
for a while. I expect one of Mr. Sampson’s men soon, and undoubtedly he
will need your help.” Lewin nodded gravely and retired.
The moment the door closed Queen was on his feet. “Where’s Field’s
private washroom, Hesse?” he demanded. The detective pointed to a door
in a far corner of the room.
Queen opened it, Ellery crowding close behind. They were peering into
a tiny cubicle spaced off in an angle of the wall. It contained a
wash-bowl, a medicine chest and a small clothes-closet. Queen looked
into the medicine chest first. It held a bottle of iodine, a bottle of
peroxide, a tube of shaving-cream, and other shaving articles. “Nothing
there,” said Ellery. “How about the closet?” The old man pulled the